Page 27 of My Secret Santa Clayton

The back-and-forth felt good. Too good, actually, and I found myself wondering why we ever stopped talking like this. Theroom around us faded away; it was just Grace and me and our pathetic gingerbread disaster.

“I would much rather be eating them,” she said, then gestured at a gumdrop. “Honestly, I think?—”

She stopped as she accidentally tugged on the gumdrop a little, her eyes wide.

“Grace?”

That’s when I realized why she’d gone still; because that gumdrop had been holding our whole fragile house up. And when she’d gone to eat it…

…well, the whole thing crumbled.

TWELVE

Grace

This was a gingerbread disaster.

I couldn't help it—the sight of our gingerbread house, slumping to one side like a drunken sailor, sent me into another fit of giggles. Clay sat beside me, his large hands fumbling with the icing bag as he tried to shore up the sagging walls, but it was no use. The thing was a lost cause.

"Looks like a hurricane hit Candy Land," I snorted, wiping tears from my eyes.

"More like a Grace-nado," Clay shot back, a smirk on his lips that made his blue eyes crinkle at the corners.

"Hey, you were the architect here, mountain man. I just did the landscaping," I said, gesturing to the sad-looking gumdrop bushes that were now part of the wreckage.

Just then, Laura Bennet's shadow loomed over us, her arms crossed and a scowl etched into her features. She thrust a cup of coffee into each of our hands.

"Outside. Now," she commanded. "This is supposed to be family-friendly, and you two are causing a scene."

"Sorry, Laura," I mumbled, still chuckling as Clay and I scooped up our coffees and shuffled toward the door. He held itopen for me, and we stepped out into the crisp winter air, leaving behind the disapproving gaze of Silver Ridge's self-appointed moral compass.

"Feels like high school all over again, getting kicked out of the party," Clay said, shooting me a grin that was all mischief.

"Except this time, we're not hiding bottles of cheap beer under our coats," I retorted, breathing in the cold that sobered me up a notch.

"Those were the days, huh?" Clay's voice had softened, and he looked at me with something that might've been nostalgia if I didn't know any better.

We stood there for a moment, the night wrapping around us, our breath pluming into the darkness. The laughter had faded, replaced by the comfortable silence of old friends—or maybe something more.

"Remember when we tried to sled down Miller's Hill on trash can lids?" I said, sitting down in a clear spot against the rough bark of a tree out in the yard. The snow was sifting down, blanketing everything in soft white.

Clay chuckled, sitting down next to me, his breath visible in the air. "Yeah, and you crashed into that snowbank. Came out looking like a yeti."

I snorted at the memory. "And you weren't any better. Mr. 'I grew up in the mountains' couldn't even steer clear of a tree."

"Hey, that tree came out of nowhere," he defended himself with a smirk.

We went on like that for a while, swapping tales of our teenage recklessness, the warmth from the coffee seeping into our hands. It was easy, comfortable, and it almost felt like the years hadn't put distance between us.

Then, as the laughter died down, I found my courage waning—a little liquid bravery leaving me thanks to the coffee—and I murmured, "I wish things had ended differently, you know?"

Clay's face, illuminated by the soft glow of the inn's lights spilling out into the yard, registered surprise. "What do you mean?"

I bit my lip, the pain of old wounds flaring up. "You abandoned me," I whispered, the words tumbling out like shards of glass from my mouth. "We had all these plans to leave Silver Ridge together, to start our lives, to go on adventures..." My head shook almost imperceptibly, trying to dislodge the memories. "And then you see me in my prom dress, a night we both had looked forward to for forever, and you tell me you're done with me. You don't want me." The tightness in my throat threatened to cut off my voice, betraying the tears I fought so hard to keep at bay. "I still don't understand what I did wrong."

Clay's face transformed, his features hardening as if the cold had gotten to him. His eyes were like chips of ice boring into me. "You cheated on me, Grace."

"What?" I gasped, confusion lancing through the numbness brought on by the alcohol and the cold. "What the hell are you talking about?"

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